Changing of the Guards

Summer is about over and here comes Autumn,
the soft petals of the rose has begun to fall.
The fledgling birds are trying to fly like
their mothers taught them all.

The cool northern wind makes its first call,
the red, orange and persimmon yellow leaves
slowly tumble from their majestic heights so tall.

The honey bee hurriedly zooms from fading
flower to flower in search of the last nectar
to be yielded .

A single crow squawks loudly, signaling its
mates to a treasure trove of left over grain
in the recently harvested field.

There’s a smell of wood smoke in the brisk air,
and bacon frying at the farmer’s house over there.

In the village, preparations are being made
for the coming Autumn fair, and bright yellow
pumpkins are displayed everywhere.

The little gray squirrel noisily chatters
as it hurriedly gathers its winter cache.
The sound of the Northern geese flying
high towards the Southern skies, makes
me sad and brings a tear to my aging eyes.

The changing of the seasonal guards
is taking place and soon Autumn will
surrender to old man winter with his
cold, snowy white face.